


An Educated Fool (With Love On His Mind)

by rispacooper



Category: The Green Hornet (movie)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Costume Kink, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:41:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Britt a while to reason out about what's going on between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Educated Fool (With Love On His Mind)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to dlasta for reading this for me and being so helpful. (Ack! Warm-hearted sincerity! Ack! Quick, let’s talk about cock again before things get awkward!)

The thing was, Britt knew he wasn’t good enough for Kato. In the sober moments of his life, of which there were a lot more than there used to be thanks to the awesomeness that was being the Green Hornet, he can fully acknowledge this.

He was, despite his efforts and his father’s fortune, not as smart, not as skilled, or talented, or even as good-looking as the man who had made his coffee for years. Not that Britt wasn’t a catch, because he was totally a catch. Sure, he might not be classically handsome, or cut like someone from Twilight, or be able to hold a job without his family name, or have a lot of real friends, but he was no slouch in the dating department. If by “dating” he meant “bringing home people he met in clubs who found his money charming”—which he totally did, because that was _awesome_.

Ultimately unfulfilling, maybe, and pale in comparison to putting on his mask and standing next to Kato while hopefully silhouetted by a full moon or a Klieg light or something dramatic, but still totally awesome. The Hornet was like a better version of himself, and being out there like that, with Kato, was even _better_ than endless one night stands with the hot, slutty men and women of the greater L.A. area.

Kato was…Kato was Britt’s best friend and the closest thing Britt had ever had to a brother, and incredibly badass, and also completely and _insanely_ hot.

Which made the brother thing just disturbing really, but Kato had started that one, not him, and when Kato had said it, he had clearly had no way of knowing what Britt had been thinking of doing with him, to him, whatever, and it had occurred to Britt that maybe it would be better to go along. To not do anything about the stormy feelings in his gut when Kato was around, the admiration and need and wanting.

Actually, all things considered, for the first time in his life, Britt was mostly fine with that. The not having. The no ass tapping. The not getting what he wanted to get. Was it torture sometimes, sitting in the Beauty with Kato still and competent in the driver’s seat, his eyes alive behind his half-mask, his mouth quirked in the faintest smile at something Britt had suggested—like Britt’s ideas were _good_ , which was another first—and _not_ make any kind of move on him? Yes. Yes it was. But it was also the best thing ever, hands down. Hanging out with Kato, kicking bad guy ass, was _the balls_ , and Britt was willing to take a little torture for that.

But just a little. Pain really wasn’t his thing.

His thing these days seemed to mostly be staying home instead of clubbing, or venturing out in the Black Beauty to make evildoers his—their—bitches. He dated enough to keep the people who knew him, and Kato, from getting suspicious, and to keep that really unattractive know-it-all look out of Lenore’s eyes, but honestly, most nights he was too tired from his bone-crushing quests for justice, and who wanted to bring girls home to his cars when he couldn’t show them his best one?

He’d tried once, with Lenore, because _she’d_ have to understand at least, but somewhere around his description of the Ben-Hur spikes and his not at all too effusive praise for the hundred tiny, amazing secret compartments in the backseat, that look had appeared in her eyes again.

He didn’t need to waste a lot of time dating anyway, as he now had other things on his schedule that weren’t partying. As it turned out superheroing was a lot of work and work was kind of _hard_.

Britt’s life, until his father’s murder, until the Hornet, had been mainly about disappointing dear old dad and reaping the benefits of the work of others. Now it was sleeping late because he’d been chasing down leads and crooks all night and breakfast by the pool with Kato, and training during the day, and failing to pay proper attention to Lenore when she lectured him about crime stats.

The training was only because Kato had insisted that a) Britt know how to aim a gun if he was going to carry one, even a knock-out gas one, and b) Britt learn how to fight despite how Britt _clearly_ had mad skills already. Also because it meant Britt had gotten to install a Danger Room in his house and he felt like James Bond or Wolverine every time he went in there.

Kato was kind of naggy about that sort of thing, always going on about Britt’s safety, trigger guards, blah blah blah, and then getting pouty when Britt tried to slack off.

It wasn’t like it mattered much anyway. No matter what he did, even how much he wanted to, he will never ever get Kato to stare at him the way he stared at the Black Beauty, like it was _his_ , which even though Britt paid for it, it just was.

But even knowing that Britt still went and trained everyday, telling himself that it was so they could at least be the best partners of all time. So they could be a crime fighting duo kickass enough to make Batman and Robin suck it and way cooler than the Wonder Twins. He learned enough to ensure he’d have Kato’s back, and that, weird as it was, to work at something like that, it was still totally awesome. He wouldn’t trade driving around with Kato and blasting 90’s hip hop, or for that matter, risk it, for anything in the world.

\---

 

He’s smiling as the punk drops to the street, conscious, but with a few bruises. Britt’s got a few bruises forming too, not like Kato, who took down three or four guys with quiet efficiency and that sneaky hint that maybe he enjoys the violent side of his work more than he should. But Britt got this one, and that’s what counts, or so he thinks when he slides into the passenger seat and tries to share the victory with Kato.

“Dude! How sweet was that?” He could throw a few more punches, but doesn’t, not when Kato glances over at him and there’s a barely perceptible frown that his mask can’t hide.

“You’re bleeding.” Kato is short as he turns and starts the car. He pulls away from the curb and even by streetlight and the green of the control panel, Britt can see his jaw is clenched. “You didn’t have to do that. I had them.”

“What?” Britt isn’t sure he’s hearing correctly. “Was I supposed to leave you hanging?” It’s a little annoying how Kato leaps in to rescue him all the time, even when he doesn’t need rescuing. Of course, Britt has learned his lesson about insulting Kato’s pride, and if that’s what this is about, then Britt is not in the mood in the deal with the reproachful stares—or the rabbit punches to his kidneys.

“It’s just a split lip. I got worse as a kid.” To prove it, Britt pokes at his lower lip with his tongue. It’s stingy, burning, but he shrugs for show when Kato’s attention stays on him for a second too long for someone driving a heavily-armored vehicle. “I’m not leaving you out there, dude,” he adds, because now Kato just looks pissed as he flicks the switch for the music, then flips it off again. Fine. Britt can be pissed too. “After all, it’s the Green Hornet and _partner_ , right? So we’re partners. Quit acting like I forgot our anniversary and--”

He doesn’t get to finish. They aren’t anywhere near the house, but Kato slams on the brakes, puts the car in park, and turns to glare at him.

The pulse above the high collar of his sleek, form-fitting uniform is beating fast. Britt can’t help licking his mouth again, but he looks up into Kato’s eyes because he is being a respectful friend and partner here. He is not thinking about Kato naked because those kind of thoughts get him nowhere and he’s not a beat his head against a wall kind of guy.

“I had them,” Kato repeats, like Britt is slow, and it’s fucking irritating. Britt blinks back the hurt of that rejection of his limited abilities and then scowls.

“I am here to help. We…” He waves between them, not quite touching Kato and watching Kato watch his hand when it comes close to brushing him, “…are here to help, remember? Just because I don’t possess your awesome Bruce Lee skills doesn’t mean I’m sitting in the car.”

“You are helping. It was your idea to come out here tonight.” Kato’s gloved hands are still on the wheel, squeezing hard at everything Britt says, and it’s weird how distracting that is. Britt has definite not-brotherly thoughts about Kato’s hands and those leather gloves.

Leather _might_ be Britt’s new thing. Masks too. He likes the way Kato’s mask hides his identity, but not anything that he’s feeling. He wouldn’t even need to remove it if they ever did anything. Mask or not, Kato is Kato. Britt really doubts Kato feels the same way about the mask covering half of _his_ face, even if Britt always feels different, braver, when he’s in costume. Cool. Almost as badass as Kato.

He figures all superheroes must be this kinky, since guys who wear tights and capes must have issues anyway.

“Why are you staring into space?” Kato’s impatient question jerks him back into the moment. “Are you even listening to me?” The sharp edge is back in Kato’s voice, and for a second, Britt can remember him saying, “You hit on everything that moves. I’m surprised you haven’t hit on _me_.” The same tension has him shaking now, breathing hard.

“Uh, yes, of _course_ I’m listening,” Britt blusters because he wasn’t, and because he can never forget that moment, or the ferocity in Kato’s attack when Britt hadn’t answered. “You’re telling me that all my hard work doesn’t mean anything because I didn’t grow up in an orphanage or on the streets like a real bad ass.” He has no idea why he’s being obnoxious; he admires what Kato has done with himself because he knows he never could have done the same. He’s not even sure why they’re arguing, again, or if they even are, because Kato turns away without saying anything.

It’s kind of bullshit. That comment should at least have earned Britt a smack to the arm if not the shoulder. Britt is pretty sure Kato will never hit him in the shoulder again though the bullet wound had healed months ago and just left him with a cool scar to impress girls and any boys into that kind of thing.

“I had them,” Kato insists, for the billionth time, and then glances back over. His mouth is highlighted in emerald green, and for a crazy second, Britt almost swears that time is doing that slowing down thing again, showing him what needs to be done.

He exhales, but then Kato swallows, his eyes dark on Britt’s face. His words are clipped, but hot. “I had them. That’s my job. That’s what I do for…”

“Your job? I’m a job to you?” Britt lifts his chin. Kato still draws a generous paycheck, sure, because he shouldn’t take care of just about everything in Britt’s life for free, and he’s got to live off something. But Britt had never thought of it as Kato’s _job_ , of himself—the Hornet, he means—as something Kato _had_ to do. Kato’s whole life had been work, Britt had hoped this was something else. Something fun that Kato wanted to be a part of.

All that might be in his face because Kato exhales.

“No,” Kato contradicts himself but doesn’t add anything else. He just tears his hands from the wheel and crosses his arms.

“Okay, because you are totally making sense right now.” Britt gives in with a sarcastic wave, audible hurt in his voice despite his efforts. “You had them and you don’t need me.”

“You are a dickhead,” Kato charges immediately, his hands flying loose at last, too fast for Britt to see, but he’s jerked forward by his suit, or his tie, and then Kato is kissing him hard on his mouth.

It hurts, but Britt lied, a little bit of Kato-inflicted pain _is_ his thing. It stings and burns warm under Kato’s lips, wet where Kato’s tongue tastes the blood, and for some reason, that gets Britt hard.

He’s done weirder things, but it doesn’t feel weird as he strains to get closer. He can’t think anyway, and doesn’t really want to. He just gasps back when he has a moment to suck in air, and nods to questions he’s pretty sure Kato isn’t asking and repeats phrases that sound a lot like porn dialogue when quick, competent, hands that feel like butter-smooth leather undo his fly and curl around his dick.

As handjobs go, it’s bruising and hot and over fast, and the most startling, amazing thing that’s ever happened to Britt short of seeing the Hornet’s name on the front page of his dad’s paper. His mouth falls open and stays that way and he’s left shaking and trying to think of something to say that isn’t “Holy shit” or how he kind of loves Kato like he’s never loved anyone.

But when he finally stops shivering, Kato pulls a handkerchief from somewhere and hands it to him before turning and restarting the car.

They are in the garage before Britt remembers to close to his mouth, and by then, Kato’s on his bike and gone.

\---

 

It’s kind of dick move, which Britt knows all about even though he’d never treated any of his one night stands like that, something that Kato should know for a fact since he’d witnessed enough morning afters while delivering those cappuccinos.

Britt waits, arms crossed, feeling more than a little lost and ridiculously hurt, but there’s no trace of anything in Kato’s face the next time Britt sees him, which is at a strategy session at Lenore’s house days later.

She lectures Britt about risks too, unnecessary risks and wrong risks and what risks he _should_ be taking, which completely unfair, but of course she always takes Kato’s side, and Britt almost rubs his scar just to remind them both that he’s not a baby. He also glares between the two of them, just in case Kato gets any more ideas about her.

Though Kato isn’t staring at Lenore, not even when she bends over to get something and her tight skirt clings and rises in really great ways. He’s staring at Britt most of them time, so pouty and dissatisfied that it was like Britt did something wrong, which he didn’t, not that he knew of anyway.

Anyway, Kato is the one who ought to be receiving the unhappy looks, because he was the one being the baby. Or whatever you called it when you wouldn’t admit you were wrong—labeling things wasn’t Britt’s strong suit. _Kato_ was the one who had touched Britt’s dick after all, and stared at him after he came, his slight body tense, his chest heaving, and he was the one now acting like he hadn’t done any of that.

Britt’s not an expert on anything except champagne and certain brands of beer, but he knows that what happened the other night wasn’t some sort of argument-solver known only to mechanic-barista-engineer-martial arts expert-geniuses from Shanghai. The best he could figure, as the days went on, was that he must have dreamed it all under the influence of some new knock-out gas formula Kato had tested on him.

Except for his split lip, which was very real, and which had taken a while to heal since Britt had been running his tongue over it every time he’d masturbated.

If that had been a dream, it had been a good one, but then Britt’s subconscious was a mysterious and powerful force.

As though to prove just that, when he leaves the meeting and goes back home to eat his lunch all alone, he ends up watching TV. He passes out midway through a marathon of one of the greatest crime TV shows of all time and wakes up with a breakthrough about the mobster they’d been trying to track down.

\---

 

Two weeks later, he’s considering the gangster lying at his feet, bleeding from where Britt had—pretty awesomely—deflected the knife meant for his heart into the other man’s shoulder, when Kato leaps toward him across the heavy oak desk, seconds too late to save Britt if that’s what he had been going for, which he probably had been.

Luckily Britt had saved himself—and, coincidentally, Kato, because Britt had chosen to go for the guy at his feet because that guy had been aiming his gun at Kato’s back. Well, by chosen, it had been more a matter of seeing green and having to move, having to save Kato, and knowing exactly what it was he had to do in order to do that.

Kato however, is _vibrating_ at Britt’s side, watching as Britt kicks away the fallen gun, and the switchblade, because this guy had had switchblade of all things in his pocket, which is so 1950’s it isn’t funny.

Britt’s trying to think of something cool to say to the guy but all the close heat at his side is very distracting, and all he can think of are anti-drug PSAs from his childhood and lines from Mortal Kombat, so what comes out is, “Nice suit,” which…isn’t great.

Kato bends down to knock the guy out with a single neat punch that Britt really needs to learn, because, man, his knuckles feel raw, and then rises to his feet directly in front of Britt.

“He was their leader,” Kato comments, color in his cheeks from all the kung fu whupass he’d just delivered.

“See? I told you!” Britt goes for a high five, mostly to counteract the strange feeling in his stomach at the expression on Kato’s face. The feeling is like guilt, or fear, or something unpleasant that Britt would rather not deal with when he hasn’t done anything wrong. But he winces at the friendly, light slap and then remembers. Deflecting a knife with his hand means a knife wound in that hand. Right.

“It’s just a cut,” he says quickly, with an anger that’s as confusing as the guilt. It doesn’t need stitches, his gloves saved him from real damage, and if he _had_ been hurt, he’d be getting fawned over by hot nurses right about now. “I told you this was their leader’s lair.” Mobsters meeting in the back of a strip club…even Kato had had to have seen the Sopranos and should give Britt at least a _little_ credit by now.

“He was their leader.” Kato isn’t dropping it, and suddenly Britt’s not feeling the high five anymore.

“You know, it’s getting just a _tiny_ bit insulting how you don’t have faith in me—in my ideas. I thought we were partners.” They’re more than that, but Bret’s not really sure what that is.

Kato’s expression gets even darker. “You took a stupid chance. I knew he had a knife.” Because the great Kato never makes mistakes or anything.

“And the gun on you, you knew about that too?” Britt narrows his eyes and Kato crosses his arms.

“You should have let me…”

“What? Do everything?”

“Not everything, just the hard part.” As though a small head shake was going to make that sting less. It’s like everything with Kato was sharper than anything else. Britt kind of wished he didn’t like it so much. It’s like the burn of a workout, and the pleasure of hitting the bulls-eye in every paper target.

He should be grateful Kato wants to do the heavy lifting, but there’s nothing like being reminded of how much Kato is out of his league. Liking someone had been so much easier when he’d known that they wouldn’t reject him as long as the money kept coming and it wouldn’t really matter if they left because there’d be someone else to replace them. There was no replacing Kato. Just the idea of trying makes Britt feel like punching something.

“So because I’m not as amazing as you doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing--” he starts, frowning across at Kato, at his stubborn expression and his shaking body, and swallows the rest as he finds himself turned until his back is to the unconscious mob boss’s desk. Everything he might have said becomes wordless agreement when a furious Kato pushes his body between his legs.

This time Britt’s hand slides to the buttons of Kato’s uniform when Kato kisses him, his fingers pulling the tight collar loose, exploring the skin it hides. His other hand knocks the chauffeur’s cap to the floor, tangles in short, silky hair.

“I know,” Kato says it like he’s swearing, out of breath and heavy.

There’s other people, sleeping gangsters, in the room with them, and that might be another thing to add to Britt’s growing list of turn ons, because he’s not stopping Kato as he claws at Britt’s jacket, pulls his shirt up, his pants down, and then disappears to suck what’s left of Britt’s mind out through his cock.

His palms cup his balls, his tongue is incredible, and Britt throws his head back says a lot of possibly stupidly romantic things as he comes. Things like _yes, please_ , and _whatever you want, partner_ and Kato’s name.

For a moment afterward there’s silence, eyes behind a half-mask alive and yearning, and Britt really, really tries to think of something to say that would be impressive to someone like Kato.

“Flawless victory,” he manages, and then winces. “I mean…Kato…” His hand is still at the back of Kato’s neck and he flexes it, going for something, gentle, hopeful, because once again he has no idea what’s happening here, whatever he just said a few minutes ago.

Then some asshole on the floor starts to stir, and when Britt looks away, Kato pulls Britt’s pants back up as he gets to his feet. He puts everything back in its proper place like he’s back in the garage caring for the Beauty and then he steps back and motions for Britt to follow him back out of the club. They hop into the Beauty to the sound of sirens and don’t say a single thing that isn’t about the police in the rear view mirror.

\---

 

The resulting chase had lasted a few hours. When they’d gotten home, Kato had pointedly thrown a Band-Aid at him and then buried himself in the garage with the Black Beauty for the next three days, repairing shot up panels, installing new windows, and tucking new supplies very carefully into the hundred compartments that Britt hadn’t had a chance to explore.

After that Lenore had sent them on two, admittedly _slightly_ better-planned, publicity stunts-slash-crime fighting missions, both of which had gone off without a hitch. He and Kato had taken down the bad guys without argument this time, which was confusing, because it was good, but also bad, because Britt was starting to think arguments were the only time Kato was ever going to touch him.

Not that he wanted Kato to touch him if it meant Kato not speaking to him…or something. It was kind of a mess right now, and since Kato usually cleaned up Britt’s messes, something drastic was needed to get them back on the right footing. Britt just couldn’t seem to think of any ideas on how to do this except grabbing Kato and pulling him into bed in the mornings, or staying there with him all day and maybe all night if they weren’t needed on the streets, and those weren’t things that Kato would want.

At least he didn’t think so, and if he was wrong, everything would be seriously, maybe even hopelessly, fucked up.

In desperation Britt had almost consulted Lenore, but she would probably tell him it was none of her business. Or side with Kato again. Or tell Britt he didn’t have a chance and to stop hoping and possibly screwing up the greatest thing in his life.

As though he didn’t know that. What did she take him for, an idiot?

As a reward for his self-restraint, and because he knew Kato liked food, and alcohol, he’d treated Kato to a guys night out. Just two buddies, on the town, drinking brew, scoping hotties, safe and friendly things that any guy friend might do for another guy friend.

They’d ended up back at his place, wasted, just the two of them, possibly playing GTA on his bed, though Britt didn’t remember much except passing out next to Kato on top of the covers and waking up to a fresh cup of coffee on his nightstand.

They’d eaten breakfast together by the pool just like before, and that was that. Things were good again. They fought crime and looked cool while doing it, they hung out, and it was awesome.

It was also still torture. So when Lenore pointed out that Britt was going to lose his carefree idiot playboy reputation, the “idiot” just a touch hurtful though it proved Britt had been right about how Lenore viewed him, Britt had gone out to a club, alone, and left Kato to whatever it was Kato did when he wasn’t being brilliant or blowing Britt’s mind. Probably dating sexy women like the ones he drew in his notepad, which Britt was not thinking about, and wouldn’t think about, as long as there were bottles of sparkling booze left in the world.

He was in the VIP lounge with two blondes and a redhead when the well-armed, jacked out of their minds thugs stormed in to confront the club owner about a debt.

One distress call and quick change in the men’s room later and he and Kato had saved countless innocent lives as well as many bottles of expensive liquor and stupid mirrored art installations.

The lights on the dance floor couldn’t quite explain the flickering of red and green in Britt’s vision as he’d moved, the way the screams had faded to nothing and all he’d heard was his breathing and Kato’s voice. He didn’t give orders, he didn’t even manage words, just sounds, warning, calls for attention, but Britt had understood. His heart was pounding, thundering in his chest, and no one, no one, was going to hurt anyone tonight, he could tell.

It was like seeing the future and then living it, and he could tell Kato felt it too. They were in the fucking zone, better than any fictional superheroes because this shit was real. This was everything he’d ever wanted and he was it. _They_ were it. They were partners, and when one last punch downed the final despicable, cowardly-yet-psychotically-violent maniac, Britt turned and saw Kato watching him. He was glowing green.

Without thinking Britt gave a firm nod. “To the car.” Kato’s mouth quirked up, and honestly, Britt could have stayed like that, smiling back at him, for a stupid amount of time and would have if they hadn’t heard sirens.

There were people taking pictures, video, on their phones, calling the police, and so they slipped away without any cool lines, because cool lines weren’t really necessary when you were truly badass, and there was too much else going on in Britt’s mind anyway for him to try to focus on anything clever.

Blocks away, waiting in a dark lot for the police attention to die down, Britt was pulled, unresisting, into the backseat and underneath Kato. He was hard even before Kato softly ordered him to shut up though he wasn’t talking, and groaned in defeat at the way Kato’s breath hit him in hot puffs just at the side of his mask.

Then he was fucked senseless by Kato’s fingers in him, with Kato’s mouth on the back of his neck, the air ripe with sex and the lube that Kato had smartly hidden in the car because he was a genius. A pervert maybe, but a genius too.

Hiding lube implied premeditation, but Britt didn’t care, not with rich leather around him and Kato breathing his name before finally shuddering against him.

What he cared about was the silence afterward.

\---

 

Maybe he wasn’t a planner like Lenore, or smart like Kato, but he _was_ the Green Hornet, and the Green Hornet didn’t sit around and wait for others to solve his problems for him. The Green Hornet was bold, and daring, and generally kick ass. He didn’t worry about possible loss, he thought about possible gain, and as much as Britt needed Kato, this fuck-and-run thing was ruining his pretense that he could live with just being Kato’s friend and vaguely brother-like figure.

So he steels himself and goes for it.

“You know, I’m not a cuddler by any means, but what gives?” It’s a strange way to start a conversation, especially in his dad’s old office, waiting for Lenore to appear to give them a rundown on the week’s work. But honestly, two days since the sex in the Beauty and not only was the awkwardness back, but Kato kept _looking_ at him. It was worse without the mask, sort of impatient and pissy and then just…sad.

Britt didn’t like things that made Kato sad anymore than he liked problems that couldn’t be solved by throwing money at them. He’d never thought about anything so much in his life as he’d thought about his current situation and it was starting to give him a headache.

“Cuddler?” Kato evades like a pro, going blank, but Britt is on to that move.

“That!” Britt points at him. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you don’t understand English.”

“I don’t know ‘cuddler’,” Kato insists anyway, and he is so totally lying.

“I am buying you a dictionary, my friend.” Britt crosses his arms with a huff, but when Kato doesn’t answer, the silence in the room suddenly seems oppressive. It’s like a dry sauna. Britt _hates_ dry saunas.

“I don’t need a dictionary.” Thank God at least Kato breaks first. But that isn’t an answer, and Britt scratches his nose as he tries to think of what to say to that.

“Then what do you want, Kato? Because just ask and I’ll get it for you, you know that right?” He leans forward and watches Kato frown, then glance away. “That I’ll do anything for you?”

It sounds _way_ mushier out loud like that than it had in his head. Britt feels his face get hot, probably lighting up as red and bright as a tomato, and pushes out a nervous laugh.

“I know that,” Kato says quickly but stands up as Lenore enters the room. “I need coffee,” he tosses at both of them without turning around and then leaves. Lenore wrinkles her forehead and swings a look between the two of them.

She closes the door and comes forward with a pile of books or reports or something else horrible that she’ll want to talk about, but instead of diving right into what Britt could have done better, or will do next time, she stops.

“I have an article and my deadline is in an hour, so I was going to postpone this anyway if you’re not up to it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be up to it?” So…this is what it felt like, doing hard work for nothing. Britt had all but said, “Hey buddy, I’m really into you” and Kato was just going walk away? His father had kept something old and brown in a bottle in his desk somewhere, something better than the crap at the bar for his visitors. Britt should partake of a little something smooth and mind-numbing before he goes.

“Because you’re in here moping over your partner in…justice.” Her own choice of words makes Lenore’s face scrunch for a second. “Just make a move already. I swear you never listen to a word I say.”

“Wait, what?” Lenore must be some kind of mind reader. “I can’t… Kato and I… He’s…” Lenore’s waving her hand, so Britt swallows and then spits it out. “I think we both know Kato is too good for me. I’d rather not fuck this up the way I’ve messed up everything else in my life prior to the Green Hornet, okay?”

He sighs. “I’m fine with what we have.”

“Mmm hmm.” Lenore adjusts her nightmarish stack of papers before shaking her head. “With your daddy issues, of course you haven’t figured it out. Your love map is probably shot to hell, so you wouldn’t even understand the simplest gesture of reciprocation or what it is to tell someone that you love them. In fact, it’s likely that you…”

As helpful as it probably is, Britt can’t help tuning her out after a few seconds. He really can’t. But he straightens up when she pauses to breathe…or stops, he isn’t sure.

“Lenore look, just…tell me what to do.”

Lenore just rolls her eyes and points at the door.

“I am a mastermind, not a matchmaker.” Her sigh is definitely annoyed, but she wipes at her face and holds up her hand as she does something mastermind-y and clever. “How do you know what to do when you’re out there?” she asks him with a short nod, like she knows all about stopped time and green lights. Her mind is made up and so far, her plans have never steered Britt wrong. He holds his breath, waiting for the rest, and is kind of disappointed when it’s so _obvious_. “So do that.”

\---

 

Waiting for time to stop wasn’t really what Britt had in mind. But he went home, sitting silently next to Kato and then trying not to feel jealous when once they got there, Kato went back to the garage to make the Beauty gleam impossibly bright.

Except he was, so he wandered down there just as it got dark outside. Kato looked up as he came in, freezing over whatever he was drawing, but didn’t say anything when Britt got himself a beer. Then he thought about it and got one for Kato too.

“So…you want to watch a movie?” Britt was _not_ the Green Hornet. The Green Hornet would never be this lame. Of course, the Hornet also wore a mask. Masks were good for a lot of things besides identity hiding. If Kato hadn’t been in a t-shirt and jeans too, Britt would have felt weirder about it. He tried a shrug anyway. “I got a streaming…thing and there’s no plan to roll out tonight.”

Kato’s pale, calloused hand tightened around his beer before he shook his head.

“I have work to do.”

“You _always_ have work to do.” Britt really shouldn’t be this upset. Rejection had never bothered him before. But it wasn’t just rejection, it was the thought of Kato laboring away in here all night when he could be anywhere else. “Work is all you do, Kato. Someone needs to make sure you have more fun in life.” It was a knee-jerk reaction, and a dumb thing to say, but the second it was out of his mouth, he could feel his heart, his vision, the whole world start to slow down. It was like time was stopping and behind his eyes he could see everything as it played out, everything like it happened and then like it should have happened.

Work was what most people expected from Kato. They didn’t even notice how awesome he was, which was stupid, because Britt had, right away. Or at least once he’d realized it had been Kato putting that little leaf in his coffee.

Kato was…Britt was running out of words for _amazing_ and _awesome_. He had to know that, except if he did, it hadn’t been in his expression that night when they’d nearly killed each other.

In other words, Britt’s mind wondered, why _hadn’t_ he ever made a move on Kato? Because he was scared? That was kind of a sorry ass reason. Even his father would have agreed with him on that one and his father would have died—had died—before ever agreeing with Britt about anything.

“If you’re bored, why don’t you go to the club?” Britt realized that he was staring and not talking right as Kato turned to take a long drink of beer. His throat was visible as he swallowed. Britt thought Kato in a t-shirt and jeans might also be a new thing of his. At this point though, what about Kato _wasn’t_ a thing of his?

When Kato finished his beer and set it down he looked back over at Britt, and man, there was all kinds of uncertainty on his face.

Kato was scared too. Badass Kato was scared of him.

The world and time stopped. It all stopped except for Britt who kept moving forward. He could see it now, the future, what had to be done, bright and clear and green.

“You want me and I really don’t deserve you, Kato but I don’t think I’m going to question it anymore because, honestly, that is just really, really awesome. I can’t even tell you how awesome that it is. That is like…” he gestured widely with his hands, “…really, really awesome.”

He stopped when Kato was right in front of him, when they were just feet from the Beauty’s rear bumper.

He nodded with firm decision. “Kato, I have an idea.”

Kato’s mouth was open and his cheeks looked hot, but he rolled his eyes.

“I can guess what it is,” he remarked, moving like the air around them was thick. Or like time was standing still for him too.

“I think we should get you against the Black Beauty, then get our clothes off, then get freaky. Then we should go watch a movie and rest up for our future crime-fighting adventures.”

Kato blinked, then licked his lips a second before he curved them into a smile.

“That…is a good idea,” he agreed, clearing his throat, and Britt bent his head, stopping just short of kissing him.

“I am so glad you agree, partner.”

 

The End


End file.
